Stealing the Newspaper
Babygirl and I were walking around the block Saturday. Actually, she was riding while I was pushing her in the umbrella stroller. We passed Sleeping Beauty's driveway and Babygirl spied a newspaper lying near the ivy. "Paper!" she said.
"Yes, paper," I repeated. And I kept pushing her.
"Paper!" she said again, with urgency. I can read her mind and I knew she wanted that paper. She loves to pick up the plastic-wrapped newspaper from the driveway and carry it into the house.
She began to pull at her seatbelt and said, "Walk! Walk!" I unbelted her and let her walk. By now, we were a house or two down from Sleeping Beauty's house. She turned and headed back towards the newspaper.
Now, Sleeping Beauty's house is a house obscured by vegetation. It reminds me of the fairy tale in which the castle was overtaken by thorny bushes while Sleeping Beauty slept under a spell. The two-car driveway is now a one-car driveway because half of it is covered with ivy. The ivy has crept up the front of the house. Moss has taken over the roof. An overgrown flowering tree hides the front windows and the door. Once a year, the man who lives in the house mows his lawn. Once.
Babygirl makes a bee-line for the newspaper and grabs it, triumphantly calling out, "Paper!" She brings it to me like an obedient cocker spaniel. I say "thank you" and say, "Now, you want a ride?" I figure I will get her back into the stroller and then toss the newspaper back into the driveway as I hurry Babygirl away. She'll never know.
Just then, an upstairs window slides open and the man appears. He says, "HEY!" I am holding his newspaper and he looks at me as if I am about to hotwire the gigantic late model pick-up truck which is parked in his driveway. I smile and say, "Oh! I'm not going to steal your newspaper. She just wanted to hold it. I'm going to get her in the stroller and put it back."
He's staring at me as if he might pull out a gun and shoot me. And also as if he does not speak English.
So I say again, "I'm not going to steal your newspaper. Okay?"
He says, "Oh, sorry." The window shuts abruptly.
I put Babygirl into her stroller and toss the guy's newspaper back into the leaf-littered, ivy-covered driveway. I'm pretty sure that guy was the Wicked Ogre who is holding Sleeping Beauty captive.
And because I just realized that my thumb is bleeding all over my space bar (I grated it along with the cheddar this evening) I will leave you to conclude this tale with your own clever ending.
The end.
"Yes, paper," I repeated. And I kept pushing her.
"Paper!" she said again, with urgency. I can read her mind and I knew she wanted that paper. She loves to pick up the plastic-wrapped newspaper from the driveway and carry it into the house.
She began to pull at her seatbelt and said, "Walk! Walk!" I unbelted her and let her walk. By now, we were a house or two down from Sleeping Beauty's house. She turned and headed back towards the newspaper.
Now, Sleeping Beauty's house is a house obscured by vegetation. It reminds me of the fairy tale in which the castle was overtaken by thorny bushes while Sleeping Beauty slept under a spell. The two-car driveway is now a one-car driveway because half of it is covered with ivy. The ivy has crept up the front of the house. Moss has taken over the roof. An overgrown flowering tree hides the front windows and the door. Once a year, the man who lives in the house mows his lawn. Once.
Babygirl makes a bee-line for the newspaper and grabs it, triumphantly calling out, "Paper!" She brings it to me like an obedient cocker spaniel. I say "thank you" and say, "Now, you want a ride?" I figure I will get her back into the stroller and then toss the newspaper back into the driveway as I hurry Babygirl away. She'll never know.
Just then, an upstairs window slides open and the man appears. He says, "HEY!" I am holding his newspaper and he looks at me as if I am about to hotwire the gigantic late model pick-up truck which is parked in his driveway. I smile and say, "Oh! I'm not going to steal your newspaper. She just wanted to hold it. I'm going to get her in the stroller and put it back."
He's staring at me as if he might pull out a gun and shoot me. And also as if he does not speak English.
So I say again, "I'm not going to steal your newspaper. Okay?"
He says, "Oh, sorry." The window shuts abruptly.
I put Babygirl into her stroller and toss the guy's newspaper back into the leaf-littered, ivy-covered driveway. I'm pretty sure that guy was the Wicked Ogre who is holding Sleeping Beauty captive.
And because I just realized that my thumb is bleeding all over my space bar (I grated it along with the cheddar this evening) I will leave you to conclude this tale with your own clever ending.
The end.
posted by Melodee at Sunday, April 25, 2004
<< Home